The Unknowns
by PetertheChameleon
Summary: Unknown, unseen, often unappreciated, they all have stories. A long series of one-shots focusing on the lives of minor and semi-minor characters, episode by episode. Book 1, Chapter 8: Shyu
1. Peace, 1x01 Kanna

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, do not make profit on, nor really have anything to do with Avatar: the Last Airbender, which is the sole property of Mike di Martino, Bryan Konietzko, Nickelodeon, and…I have no idea who else.

**Disclaimer 2: **There's creative use of punctuation (or lack thereof) in this particular chapter. It's done for effect, and I promise I know how to use quotes. I wouldn't play around with grammar rules if I didn't. Anyway, if it's still confusing, let me know.

**Kanna (1x01 The Boy in the Iceberg)**

* * *

Kanna wasn't alive when the Fire Nation last attacked the North Pole. By the time she was born, it was a hazy nightmare that people still whispered about over dinner. By the time she was a child, it was a grim tale recounted by the men who had fought and lived. And by the time she ran away, it was hardly mentioned at all.

The Western Earth Kingdom was just beginning to fall when she made her journey South. In those three months, she learned that all the stories the veterans told were actually real – and far more fantastical than even their most gruesome inventions. She learned a lot about war, and about the people who suffered from it. Despite her desire to continue South, she dwelled in the aftermath and tended to the wounded. Doing whatever she could to help a nation that had never had the peace she'd enjoyed further North.

When she finally arrived at the South Pole, she was exhausted, feeling decades older than she actually was. Her reason for running away – to avoid an arranged marriage – seemed almost paltry now, after what she'd seen. For, where she had run away from an imagined oppression, those Earth Kingdom men were fighting a real one. And she felt properly humbled.

So humbled, in fact, that she didn't complain about South's own sexist practices. She did the wash and fixed the dinners, worrying when her husband took their son ice dodging. Fretting when they didn't come home, only to learn they'd gone to celebrate with the other men afterward. There was still that fiery spirit in her, which balked at the assumption that the woman's place was in the home. But as she told herself nightly, if such a world had to exist for her family to be safe, she would take it.

She'd spend an eternity mending socks if it meant she would never again have one day like she'd had in the Earth Kingdom.

And soon enough, Kanna made her own peace with her role in the world. The South Pole may have been like the North in many ways, but it was also different. After all, she married her husband because he ate three courses of her charred turkey whale with a smile, not because he carved her some trinket. And those women who could waterbend were just as capable fighters as the men.

Not that they ever had to fight. Their world was quaint, happy, and – most importantly – peaceful.

Of course, happiness was never meant to last in a war-torn world, and Kanna's past caught up with her the day the Fire Nation arrived. Yet unlike the North, there wasn't an assault followed by decades of memories. The Fire Navy ships left, and then they came back. And again. And again.

The raids continued monthly for years, to the point that Kanna didn't remember what it was like _not_ to live with war. The very life that she had fought and eventually accepted no longer existed. Friends and family, murdered or captured. Their villages left in ruin, survivors picking up the pieces just as they had in the Earth Kingdom. Perhaps, if Kanna had to find something to be grateful for, it was that no one in her family was a waterbender.

No one knew what happened to them.

The raids eventually stopped, after the Fire Nation had destroyed everything it could. All that remained were broken men and devastated lives, nobody spared even the smallest torture. They had nowhere to turn, for it was the same everywhere.

It was then that Kanna's fiery spirit returned to her. That part of her that never could stand to be oppressed. She approached her son that evening – the head of the house, after his father had been killed – and forced him to listen to her.

She said to him, you have known more war than I had at your age. You have known more suffering and more pain. To everyone in this village, we are defeated. But I _know_ that somewhere in this world, there is peace. We can run to it, or we can fight to bring it here.

Take the men of this village and find those last vestiges of peace. Take to them your story and tell them that, like us, they will lose their freedom if they do not fight for it. Do this, so that maybe someday, your children and my grandchildren will know the kind of world that we once had.

He didn't want to leave her, he protested. What about the village? How could they leave it defenseless, without any men to protect it?

Don't think we women are so weak, she said. We have lived through the same war as you. While you are gone, we will be strong. We will protect what little of our home remains. But if we can't rely on you men to be strong, also, then we'll have protected nothing.

Hakoda left after that, commanding the men to follow. And though they didn't want to leave their wives and children, they understood through him the importance of what they had to do.

Kanna stayed, guarding her grandchildren while their father struggled to give them what he'd never had. And at night, she would give them this lesson – the same lesson it had taken her forty years to learn:

The world is what we make it. We can fight, we can run, we can accept. But if we do nothing, we will have nothing. Peace does not come because we wait for it.

It will always be the hardest won prize.

**

* * *

A/N: **I'm sure this idea isn't original, but….this will be a long series of one-shots (if I can keep with it), centered on minor characters. What I plan to do is take one minor character from every episode, in chronological order, and write a little something – backstory, character study, what have you – describing them. These will be a mixture of sad, funny, happy, inspiring, dark, etc stories, all based on whatever character I'm writing for.


	2. In the Navy, 1x02 Guard No1

**Fire Nation Guard #1 (1x02 The Avatar Returns)**

* * *

Join the Fire Navy! they said. See the world! Well, I guess I didn't have much else planned. And service is mandatory for anyone over the age of 16, anyway, so I said to myself: why not?

Actually, I said, "Not a snowball's chance with Ozai." Because, frankly, the Navy doesn't have the best health plan, the standard treatment for everything from foot fungus to diarrhea being either "amputation" or "mercy killing." And my equilibrium's so bad, I can't even roll fire-flake dough without getting motion sick.

But then my mom said to me, "Kiki," (my name's Pui Ho, but Mom's memory hasn't been too good since the accident), "Kiki, you need to do something with your life! You can't just sit around here, waiting for something to come along. You need to get out into the world and make a difference! Just look at your brother Heji and how much honor he's brought this family."

"Mom," I said, "I don't have a brother. You're talking about the lizard-dog, and all he does is lick himself."

"At least he has goals, Kiki."

Now – like I said before – the government pretty much requires me to serve for ten years anyway (even dying doesn't get you out of it; they just demote you for giving up too easily). So I was going to the Army or the Navy, no matter what. Then I got to thinking, well, hey, three meals a day, snazzy-looking death-masks? Twenty-four-hour-access to all the fish I can eat? That doesn't sound too bad. And the Navy gave me this very nice brochure filled with tropical beaches and pretty girls in heavy make-up, which made up my mind right then and there:

I was going into the Army. (Seriously, no one wears that much make-up unless they're hiding something.)

Unfortunately, reading wasn't my strong suit back in school, and the characters for 'army' and 'navy' look a lot alike, and, besides, the Army Registration Officer was a burly fellow with three teeth and tattoos the size of my head…

…anyway, long story short, I ended up in the Navy. Which wasn't all that bad, I guess. In basic training, my commanding officer really liked me, so I only spent two hours a day scraping barnacles off the ship, rather than the requisite four. And at dinner, I'd always get a double-helping of barnacle sashimi (though, as I learned quickly, about one helping is all you really need or want).

Then, much to my delight, I got assigned to Prince Zuko's ship. What an honor! What a blessing! Not only would I be schmoozing it up on the Fire Prince's Private Party Boat, but my chances of seeing the front lines were about as good as General Iroh's chances of seeing his toes again.

Soon, though, my new bunkmate Li cleared up a few things for me. "You haven't heard, Kiki?" he said (my mom sent a care package during basic training, forever branding me). "Prince Zuko's been exiled. He can't return home until he's found the Avatar."

Now, don't get me wrong, I don't fault the guy. It's not like he chose to get his face mutilated by his own dad, and honestly, if I had those family issues, I'd probably find the farthest, darkest hole I could and just hide there until I was sure my crazy sister wasn't going to kill me.

And, you know, as my mom would say – at least he has goals.

But it's easy to say those things when you aren't freezing your topknot off in the middle of some vast, icy wasteland, waiting for a 100-year-old dead guy to thaw his way out of an iceberg and plop himself on your deck.

See, that's funny. Because that's what happened.

And it'd probably be funnier if the 100-year-old dead guy actually had been dead, or a 100-years-old. Or, you know…not the _Avatar_. But as it was, I just got smashed into a wall by a 12-year-old bald kid with both hands, literally, tied behind his back.

"He probably just caught you by surprise," Li said, which I thought was a pretty stupidly obvious statement. He's _twelve_. And _tied up_. I don't think there was anyone more surprised than me.

But I try to look at it this way. I _did_ get to meet the Avatar, and I _do_ look pretty neat in my death mask. And apparently we're now headed for Kyoshi Island, where those make-up girls live.

I mean, how bad could they really be?


	3. A Lesson in Forgiveness, 1x03 Gyatso

**Gyatso (1x03 The Southern Air Temple)**

* * *

"Is it a mistake?"

Gyatso looked up from the Pai Sho board, one bushy white eyebrow arching at his lifelong friend. "Indeed. Your left column is now open for attack."

Roku shook his head, dark russet eyes staring past the wood tiles. "I mean with Sozin. Should I have let him go?"

"What else would you have done?"

Roku's silence spoke volumes, and quietly, he pushed a tile across the board. When he finally answered, his voice was somber. "I know that he's had designs on the Earth Kingdom for years, but…I just didn't think…"

"Fire Lord Sozin is your friend," Gyatso said, rubbing a finger over his moustache. "It is hard for one to see evil in the actions of those he loves."

"As the Avatar, I can't afford to overlook such things. I can't be biased because I want to believe the best of him. So I wonder, was it a mistake?" Roku sighed, then waved at the board. "Your move, Gyatso."

"Forgiving people is never a mistake." The orange fabric of his monastic robe caught upon a breeze as he set down another tile, the sounds of birds and lemurs carried to them from just outside the arched window. "Do not blame yourself for showing mercy. For seeing the good in others."

The look Roku gave him was concerned, but relieved. As if all he'd needed was reassurance that he had made the right decision. Even after all these years as Avatar, he still felt the occasional pang of self-doubt. But, Gyatso supposed, that was what made him a true leader. His ability to question himself.

It was fortunate, though, that in those few moments, he had a true friend to rely on.

"My son is almost five now," Roku said, growing somber as he moved another tile, "and I've missed nearly every milestone in his short life."

"You have many demands upon your time."

"I think, though, that I've done enough. I can't be everywhere, watching everything."

"You are just one man."

"So I should retire to the Fire Nation, and try to appreciate what little time I have left with my family."

"There is nothing more important than that." Gyatso was merely agreeing with Roku, but he was sincere. Roku had spent many years traveling from one country to another – missing out on the things that truly mattered to _him_. And though one might consider it selfish that Roku should want to forego the bickering governments for the love of his family, Gyatso thought it was long overdue.

And Roku's smile communicated his appreciation. "I will miss our games, old friend."

Gyatso quirked his brows. "You will miss getting your butt kicked?" The response made them both laugh, and Roku set down one last tile. "I will miss our games, too. As well as our talks."

"We're fortunate that our friendship is so strong. Perhaps it can transcend distance. And time."

"We'll meet again," Gyatso said with confidence, then frowned at the board. The pattern of his counter-offensive formed a flame, and he eyed it curiously. "What move would you call that?"

"The Red Flame Pin. I learned it from Ta Min."

"Hmm. So that's why your plays have improved."

They finished their game in peace.

--

Aang was distracted. As he often was, these days.

"Your move, young pupil," Gyatso prompted, which made the ten-year-old boy sigh.

"Was it a mistake, Monk Gyatso?" Obediently, he set down a tile, but his normally smooth brow was furrowed, marred by some silent agony.

"You mean with Jinpa?"

"He destroyed my glider, and then he broke Ten-ten's prayer beads." Propping his elbow on the table, he held his chin glumly as he airbended a tile between his fingers.

"Telling the Elders about his actions was the right thing to do," Gyatso said, but even before he finished, Aang was shaking his head against his palm.

"I mean, was it a mistake to forgive him for destroying my glider? If I had said something then…" Again, he sighed, gray eyes staring past the board. "Then Ten-ten wouldn't have lost his prayer beads."

"Forgiveness is never a mistake, young one," Gyatso said as he studied Aang. But he was seeing something else. Something much further in the past… "You cannot blame yourself for wanting to believe that someone can change."

"But what if people _can't_ change?" The boy was truly miserable, haunted by his decisions. Terrified by the prospect that there might be something less than perfect about the world. "What if my mistake is believing they can?"

"For every person who does the wrong thing, Aang, there is someone – like you – who wants to do only the right thing. The mistake is not in failing to stop those who are evil. The mistake is never giving someone the chance to be good."

The smile Aang gave him was wan – but encouraged. "Thanks, Monk Gyatso."

"You're welcome." Though he had given that same lesson to another, older man years before – though that same man had ended up being betrayed by the very friend he'd forgiven – Gyatso still truly believed his words. The evil that came of second chances could never be greater than the evil of no mercy at all. _Every_ man deserved an opportunity to redeem himself.

As Aang laid down another tile, Gyatso eyed it with a frown, the move creating a pattern he hadn't seen in years. "Aang, where did you learn that?"

"Huh? Oh." He blinked at the formation, then shrugged. "I don't know. I just felt like doing it. Kind of…looks like a flame." He cocked his head at the design, then looked at Gyatso in question. "Is it a good move?"

Yes, Gyatso thought. Perhaps it was.


	4. Masks, 1x04 Koko and Suki

**Koko and Suki (1x04 The Warriors of Kyoshi)**

* * *

Koko was watching them from the veranda. In her young, six-year-old face was the familiar awe that showed every time she watched the Warriors train. And as Akane called an end to their session, Suki approached the window of the dojo with a fond smile.

"How are you, Koko?"

As always, the little girl ducked below the sill, blue eyes peeking past the wood in shy curiosity. "Fine. Mom sent me to get Ran. Dinner's ready."

"And what's for dinner?" She folded her arms along the sill, the tassels of her headdress shaking as she met the shorter girl's gaze.

"Steamed dumplings."

"Sounds delicious."

"I made something." Though still bashful, Koko had begun to relish Suki's attention, and she took a step back, her hands folded behind her tiny frame. When Suki nodded expectantly, she produced from her back a lumpy, wood…something or other. The plank was slightly flat, two holes cut from the center, and one side slathered in white paint.

"It's beautiful," Suki said hesitantly, but with affection. Whatever it was had been made with love.

Koko held it up in both hands, proffering it for her examination. "It's a mask. Like yours." Now she could see it; the two eye holes, with uneven streaks of red and black radiating to either side. The large smudge of red that was likely the mouth. "I made a crown, but I tore it."

"So you're going to be a Kyoshi Warrior like your big sister?" Suki picked up the mask, feigning deep fascination with its strange lumps and ragged edges. Though rough, it had obviously been a project of many hours, and Koko was obviously very proud of it.

"No," she said simply, taking the mask back. "I don't like school." The response made Suki laugh, despite the gravity with which Koko said it. "Suki, why do you wear masks?"

"Well, it's not really a mask." She drew a gloved finger along the curve of her cheek, where the rice powder had mingled with her sweat to form a smooth, hard texture. "It's…expression."

The little girl's eyebrows curled in doubt. "What's that?"

"Well, masks are made to cover up." Suki straightened, resting her hands on the sill. "When you wear a mask, you don't really want anyone to see what you're feeling."

"Like I don't want Ran to know I used her face paint?"

Suki grinned. "Something like that. But expression…that's when you _do_ want people to see. And the make-up allows us to show the world what's buried deep inside us. It's an expression of our Warrior Spirit."

"I think your warrior spirit's awfully pretty," Koko said with a shy half-smile, and Suki leaned forward to tap her on the nose.

"I think yours is, too."

That confused Koko immensely, her tiny brow furrowing as her smile disappeared. "But I'm not wearing any make-up!"

"It doesn't have to be make-up, Koko." She fought back a laugh, beaming at the blue-robed child. "You can express yourself in any way you like. For instance, look at Pho Mi." Suki bobbed her head to the thoroughfare behind Koko, and she turned to follow her gaze.

Some distance up the dirt road was Pho Mi, chatting with Ying the fruit vendor. Oblivious to the girls' discussion, he leaned heavily on the fruit cart, his face, visible even from that far away, twisting in time to his words.

"See how he talks?" Suki continued, leaning against the wood so she could watch him from under the raised window slats. "Whenever he says something, he says it with his face, too."

Koko merely grimaced. "Mom says he's…uh…he's…yellow-dramatic."

"Well, maybe. But that's his way of expressing himself."

And as if to make Koko's mom's point, Pho Mi gasped as Ying handed over a ripe sun-melon. With exceptional melodramatic flare, his whole body shook, and he clutched the fruit to him as if he were holding his firstborn child.

In moments, Pho Mi was hurrying down the thoroughfare with delighted shouts, nearly frothing at the mouth. And Koko looked back to Suki with a short frown.

"I don't think I want to express myself."

Suki grinned broadly and gestured toward her lumpy mask. "You already have, Koko."

The little girl was still puzzling through this when her sister finally showed up, her headdress missing and her paint mostly removed. "Koko!" Ran cried as she noticed her through the window. "What is that?"

Slowly, Koko's eyes traveled from Suki to Ran, and she held up the mask both in embarrassment and in guilt. "It's…my expression."

"And it's wearing my make-up," she growled, stalking to Suki's side. "I'm so telling Mom when we get home."

"Calm down, Ran," Suki murmured, giving Koko a surreptitious wink. "Besides, it looks better on that mask than it ever did on you."

Koko giggled as Ran glared at Suki, too furious to speak. Finally, though, with a disgusted sound, she stormed for the door, and Suki turned back to the window.

"Always be proud of what you show the world, Koko. No matter how grumpy some people may get."

With a big smile, Koko nodded. And then she jumped down from the veranda to follow her angry sister home. Suki watched her leave, grinning softly.

After a moment, she disappeared to remove her make-up, as well.

* * *

**A/N: **This one-shot is set about two years in the past. Crazy Foaming Guy (Pho Mi here - yeah, I know. genius) pulled ahead in the poll after I'd already started writing the story. So all he got was a guest star role.

The story idea was based on my five-year-old niece, who quite adorably told me a few months ago that when she goes to school, she has to put on a mask so the other kids won't see how weird she is. Ignoring the fact the kid is using a surprisingly sophisticated metaphor (thus proving that kindergartners are way smarter than most people give them credit for), the comment made me awfully sad for her. I think we all know what it's like to pretend to be something you're not, just because you're afraid no one will like the real 'you.' And it makes me sad that she's finding that out so young. So this is kinda for her. I guess. That being said, I have no idea what's with the inspirational-message trend. Maybe I'll try to vary it up with the next chapter…


	5. Call Me Crazy, 1x05 Bumi

**Bumi (1x05 The King of Omashu)**

* * *

"Call me crazy, but I think this kid might be on to something."

That's what the captain said when I, a lowly private, showed him my dangerous yet ingenious plan to rid the Southern Ridge of its firebender occupation. It was risky – if the rocks collapsed before we had erected the wood Platypus-Bear, or if Fire Nation scouts had seen us bringing in the barrels of lychee jelly, everything would have fallen through. And you want to know what my plan was?

My, aren't we nosy?

Every battle strategy has a hint of madness. Really, _everything_ done right has a hint of it, but if you try telling someone that their egg-noodle casserole could only be the product of a crazy person, well, they're likely to take offense. Why that could be insulting, I don't really understand.

If you ask me, people in general are pretty crazy about things like that.

Anyway, what was I saying? Yes, platypus-bears. They're fascinating creatures, once you get to know them. Nothing like my dear Flopsie-kins, but they have their own unique charm. It's only their propensity to want to eat you that makes them so unbearable. (un-platypus-bear-able, that is).

I think people are kind of the same way. No, not in their desire to eat people – that would make them cannibals. By the by, have you ever heard of cannibal restaurants? A meal there costs an arm and a leg.

I'm talking about their lack of predictability. See, _that_ is madness. The greatest aspect of creativity is one that lies in surprise. If the ending of a story surprises you, it makes you happy. If the egg-noodle casserole is surprisingly good, you thank the chef (if, on the other hand, it's surprisingly bad—or made in a cannibal restaurant—then you might surprise the host by throwing up on their new rug). If the firebenders are surprised when a jelly-spewing platypus-bear erupts from the ground in front of them, then they run away and you've just saved the country.

And then maybe someday, they'll make you king of that country. Yet another surprise!

People too often delight in their own unoriginality. If it makes sense now, they say, then it will make sense tomorrow. And if it makes sense tomorrow, then they can plan their lives accordingly. Now, I don't have a problem with plans—even when I don't have a plan at all, I have a plan in case my lack of a plan falls through.

Because that's the eternal enemy of plans—change. And everything changes, so really, plans aren't much good, are they? Unless your plan _is_ one of change, which in that case, you're just plain crazy.

The point of plans is to keep the status quo in the face of chaos. But as the Fire Nation might say, why not fight fire with fire? Or was that cookie dough…? Well, I don't like the Fire Nation, and I do like cookie dough, so I'll stick to that.

If insanity is what threatens you, then it doesn't hurt to be a little insane. It's not too crazy to try to make your own surprises. And it's not a great tragedy if you yourself end up being surprised. After all, the unpredictability of life is what makes it worth living. We thrive on not knowing what next week will bring, or the week after that. We do not start our lives by saying, "I want to know that when I'm 115, I'll be an exiled King chained up in a metal box while the Avatar fights to save the world from a devastating threat thousands of miles away."

However, if you did say that, then you probably don't need to be hearing this, as you already are completely out of your mind.


	6. Hidden, 1x06 Haru's Mother

**Haru's Mother (1x06, Imprisoned)**

* * *

"Wait for me," Tyro said, and she listened. She listened because there was nothing else she could do. When the firebenders arrived in their tiny village five years before, they set fire to everything. The woods, the buildings, their very lives. Destroying the delicate walls she'd built around her family, as if she could've hidden them all from the flames that smoldered just west of their shores.

Burned, and then took. That was what the Fire Nation did. They took him from her, just as they took the other earthbenders. To mine the coal that would give them power, while they left her on her doorstep, powerless and scared. No, the firebenders couldn't earthbend. But they shattered the very earth she stood on, and left her clutching the shoulders of her son—the only thing they did not burn or take.

"Don't bend," she whispered to him at night. The little boy, barely thirteen, couldn't understand what that meant. All he knew was that his father was gone, and he had the strength—the ability—to bring him back. What he didn't know was that the Fire Nation fed on his power, growing stronger than he, engulfing and destroying just as the fire had engulfed and destroyed their village.

So she whispered silent pleas for him to remain hidden. To remain powerless, in the face of a monster. Because _she _was powerless, and she needed him more. Was it selfish, she'd wonder. Was it right to ask him to hide, when his father wouldn't have? But she was busy rebuilding the walls that the Fire Nation had broken, and she didn't have time to consider what was outside of them.

That, perhaps, she was building that wall between her and Haru.

He wouldn't fight. Though he yearned for his father, he would stay in her shop and pretend to be weak. At the same time, he grew further from her, further from reality. Distancing himself from the lies she'd created for them both. Of course, she knew he was earthbending, sneaking away to practice the gift his father had taught him. And every time he shirked his chores in order to do so, the earth quaked below her.

It wouldn't have lasted. Not his flights of fancy, not her pretense of a wall. They took him, just as they had taken his father, and she was once more left powerless at the door.

Waiting, now, for them both. For her to find the strength that she'd never had before, to find the power to break past her own walls. Waiting for the past, or for a future of change, or for a lie that would help her hide once more.

So she swept the earth. And waited.


	7. Gone, 1x07 HeiBai

**Hei-Bai (1x07; The Spirit Word: Winter Solstice Pt 1)**

* * *

_It's gone, it's gone!_

Walk the black, smell the char. Miles and miles, eating, eating into the soil, deep down until nothing will grow. Where did it go?

_They're gone, they're gone!_

Call for them, plead for them. Miles and miles, missing, missing from the plains of ash where forest once stood. Was it for good?

_They're here, they're here!_

See their lights, hear their laughs. Years and years, thriving, thriving after they gave you nothing but death. So save your breath.

_Too late, too late._

The world has ended, so end the world. _It's gone, it's gone_, you say, and all they hear are their screams. _They're gone, they're gone,_ you say, and all they see are their deaths. So save your breath.

_It was home, it was home_.


	8. Passing of the Dragons, 1x08 Shyu

**Shyu (1x08; Avatar Roku: Winter Solstice Pt. 2)**

* * *

Shyu's grandfather knew dragons.

He said they were majestic beasts who filled the skies with color, their scales like miniature sunsets. Shyu, of course, had never seen dragons, so he listened to these stories with the same kind of awe that most four-year-olds felt in the presence of their grandfathers' tales. As the old man spoke, his gray mottled eyebrows jostling over deep-set eyes, his hands would glide through the air, bringing the ancient creatures back to life in the shadows on the wall.

To Shyu, his grandfather _was _a dragon. Big-chested, deep-voiced, and exuding wisdom from every scar and crevice that marred his tanned face. When he wore the robes of the Fire Sage, he seemed to be engulfed in flames, and Shyu watched in hushed admiration as he directed grand ceremonies on the Crescent Isle to honor their great nation.

But his grandfather's tales always ended in a tragic tone, his voice falling slightly as he reached the conclusion of his story. Where were the dragons now, he'd ask, and Shyu would shake his seven-year-old head in worried anticipation. Gone, he'd then say, his great and proud shoulders heaving with a rumbled sigh. Taken from this world _because _of their majesty—because of their ferocity. The dragons were too magnificent for this world, and those who were less magnificent had felt compelled to hunt them—dominate them, control them as if it would in turn give them value. But it held no value to steal the dragons away. It simply made the skies less colorful.

And Shyu watched as his grandfather lost color. He faded with the years, the glaring gold of his deep-set eyes tarnishing to a dull bronze. The glorious crimson of his Fire Sage robes burned out to a feeble red, and his proud shoulders sunk with the weight of his worries. Just like the dragons, he dwindled away, until the last bright spark which had kept his heart so strong for so many decades flickered…then died.

As a fourteen-year-old boy, Shyu watched his father—now standing where his grandfather once stood—lead the funerary rites. He saw his father, a Fire Sage of great esteem and even greater merit, set the body of the Last Dragon aflame. For the rest of the night, they held vigil, and sang as the ash floated toward the stars.

His father didn't believe in such animals, for he had never seen them. Instead, he would tell Shyu about another, even more mythical being—the Avatar. He would talk softly as they rushed through the halls of the Crescent Isle Temple, only forcing Shyu to pause before the imposing doors that led to Roku's sanctuary.

"Remember who you serve," he would say quietly, and Shyu wanted to protest that he remembered none of this. These were the memories of others, passed down to him as stories. But then the memory of his grandfather would flash before his eyes, and he knew that even fantastic myths held a kernel of truth. Surely, someone as incredible as this Avatar Roku had lived, because someone as incredible as his grandfather had lived, too.

His father passed, as well, with a little less fanfare and a little less prestige. Shyu followed in his footsteps, taking upon himself the burden of doing Roku's will—of continuing the memory that he never really had. He would wait upon the return of the Avatar, as well as the return of peace, though he'd never known either. For, as Shyu reasoned, no one remembered the passing of the dragons. But maybe—just maybe—they'd eventually see their return.

And there his grandfather's story would truly end.


End file.
